


Rhythm of the Beat

by MsImpala67



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Curses, Female!Dean, First Time Wincest, Gender or Sex Swap, M/M, Porn with Feelings, Switching, Wincest - Freeform, female!Sam, porn with a tiny bit of plot, what happens when you mess with an Egyptian god
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-14
Updated: 2017-04-26
Packaged: 2018-10-18 22:59:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10626933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsImpala67/pseuds/MsImpala67
Summary: Sam and Dean get trapped in a vault after being turned into women by an ancient Egyptian god. Because of course they do. There’s only one way to get free. Because of course there is.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This will be three parts, hopefully all released within the next week.

“Dean! You okay?”  


“Yeah, I think so. Are you?”  


It’s at the end of that second sentence that they both register the voices themselves and not just the words.   


“Dude. You sound like...dude. Sam? You’re a fuckin’ girl.”  


Sam tears his eyes away from Dean’s apparently female body to look down at his own.   


There they are, two particularly ample breasts bobbing on his chest, perky and seemingly pleased to be there. Without thinking, he grabs at them with newly soft hands, dainty and almost elegant compared to his real ones, and gasps at the pain when he squeezes too hard.  


Dean’s doing the same thing, checking out the new scenery, so to speak, when Sam glares over at him and stammers out a childish “Yeah? Well, s-so are you!”  


“I picked up on that, Sammy.”  


Their clothes are too big, hanging off of their softer, slighter frames, and Dean hauls his shirt back up over his shoulder from where it’s fallen as he tries the door.  


Of course it doesn’t open.  


Sam watches with hope he knows he shouldn’t have, then reaches up to run his hands through his hair, annoyed when he gets a handful of hair that seems miles long and only tangles around his fingers before ending up falling over his eyes.  


They share a familiar look. That “why are we always the ones stuck in the hidden basement of a sketchy museum” look.  


“This is your fault,” Dean decides, jutting his chin out toward Sam.  


“How is it my fault? I’m not the one who touched the damn thing. You know better than to put your hands on creepy ass artifacts in ancient vaults. It’s like you’re new.”  


Dean ignores him entirely, still pulling on the door as if he can unseal it through force of will. “The least you could do is help me.”  


Sam watches the female body pull and tug, stumbling backwards a few steps. “Help you what? You heard what that thing said.”  


Yes, they had both heard the mysterious voice droning seriously about offerings and sacrifices.   


“Yeah, I heard it. So what’s the exit fee to get off this ride?”  


Sam shrugs.   


Dean smirks a little as Sam takes a few tentative steps, feeling his way in shoes that are too big and a body that has weight in all the wrong places. He feels off balance and wobbly, and more than a little irritated.  


“You don’t look so graceful yourself,” he mutters, plopping down on the floor because, at the moment, he can’t think and stand upright at the same time.   


Dean finds his first real smile. “Bet I look hot, though.” He winks when Sam looks up at him, and Sam has to admit that he’s right.  


Dean’s female body is curvy right where Sam would want a woman’s body to be (though he hasn’t really wanted a woman’s body since he started _really_ looking at Dean’s, not that he’d ever admit that), with hips to swing when he walks and breasts to bounce when he...well, when he does anything active enough to make them bounce. And his face is actually gorgeous. It’s all Dean, green eyes and freckles and those fucking lips, but it’s all sweeter, gentler. None of the hardness that’s usually there.   


“You’ve looked worse,” Sam admits.  


Dean grins even wider, but it fades quickly as he looks around.  


“Okay,” Sam thinks aloud, and Dean doesn’t even respond, knowing that Sam is no longer speaking to him. “I’m pretty sure that the statue you touched is the image of Bes. An Egyptian god.”  


“Nerd,” Dean says automatically, then bites his tongue. If anyone can think the two of them out of this situation, it’s Sam, and Dean doesn’t need to interfere.  


Sam doesn’t even hear the teasing. “He was a god of war, but he was also a protector of pregnant women, mostly associated with sexuality. Sometimes music and dancing.”  


Dean watches as Sam ponders this, a little taken aback now that he’s really looking at his little brother. Dean has always loved a beautiful woman, and that’s exactly what Sam is. He’s still tall and slim, but as he stands back up, Dean can see how his body slinks now, how it’s rounded at the edges instead of angled.   


Dean snaps out of his ogling when Sam’s voice gets a little more panicked. “So...we’re supposed to offer Bes something? And he’ll let us go. But if he’s the protector of _pregnant_ women…” His eyes go wide.  


Dean shakes his head. “Then he wouldn’t have turned _both_ of us into women.”  


The relieved breath rushes out of Sam with a whoosh, and he nods his head in a ‘why didn’t I think of that’ gesture. “Right. Good. Then…”  


“Then. Uh.” Dean rubs at his jaw only to find it too smooth. “He was also the god of sexuality?”  


Sam nods. “And music and dancing. Kind of like they were all connected. Think orgies disguised as musical rituals.”  


“Then that probably means he wants us to. You know.”  


They both look everywhere but at each other, Sam with bright red spots forming on his cheeks, Dean clenching his thigh muscles without even realizing.   


“But.” Sam doesn’t finish the thought. He doesn’t have to.  


Dean knows what Bes wants. He can feel it. There’s a tingle at the base of his spine, a warmth creeping underneath his skin, an itch that wants to be scratched.   


This is the way out.  


But it’s Sam.  


Sam sits down again, lips parting as his breath quickens, trying to control the pressure that’s suddenly causing him to squeeze his legs together. He knows how to open the door and get out of here. It’s suddenly totally obvious.  


But it’s Dean.  


“Sammy...are you-?”  


“Yeah. Shit. Okay, there has to be another way out of here.”  


Dean bites his lip to hold back a whimper as a shock of pleasure rolls through him out of nowhere. He looks over at the statue, a little brighter than it had seemed a few minutes ago. “I really don’t think there is.”  


Sam follows Dean’s gaze and lets out a sound somewhere between a gasp and a moan.  


The air gets thicker as they watch the statue glow a little brighter.  


“So then,” Sam says hesitantly, hands pressed to his stomach under his shirt just so his fingers can feel skin. “Should we…”  


“No,” Dean protests, but he’s already scooting closer to Sam, whimpering at how his breasts feel a little heavier, more sensitive, like they want to be touched.   


“Right,” Sam nods. “Maybe we can, uh, do it ourselves?”  


“What?” Dean’s whole body is buzzing now, and every word out of Sam’s mouth has to cut through the haze to sink into his overheated brain.  


“Maybe, if we make ourselves come, that’ll be enough?”  


Coming is just about the best idea Dean’s ever heard, and he nods as he slides to the ground. “Worth a shot,” he agrees.  


Just like they have in a million motel rooms, they turn their backs and get ready to ignore any and all sounds coming from the other one, both of them totally ready to get this over with.  


Dean’s sweating as he yanks his jeans and boxers down, hand instantly reaching out for a dick that isn’t there.  


Oh, right.   


Sam kneads his breasts for a second because they are fucking tingling like they need to be played with before he can even think about doing anything else, and he groans as his nipple swells between his fingers. He pinches, discovering that in a woman’s body, that feels amazing. He does it once more, but then goes for his jeans as well, thinking to hurry this up as much as possible.  


Dean carefully places his hand on his lower stomach, the flesh there with so much more give now, and fuck if that isn’t hot. He can feel the wetness gathering between his legs as he slides his hand lower, feeling his way through this new territory.  


“Oh, God,” he moans as he brushes over the lips of his new pussy. He’s done this to women before, but he had no idea how good it feels.  


Sam lets out a strained sound as he gets his hand between his own legs. His whole body feels like it’s throbbing, like he can literally feel the blood as it rushes through his veins. He goes straight for his clit, thinking that it’s probably the fastest way to make himself come, and has to stifle a shout as he touches it.   


“I know,” Dean echoes his desperation. “This feels-”  


“So good,” Sam moans, his body naturally leaning until his back is pressed against Dean’s.  


The physical contact between them is against their unspoken rules, but it feels so good to have a warm wall of support that neither of them say anything.   


Dean doesn’t know if he can handle any pressure on his clit, which is aching so much it almost hurts, so he slides one finger inside of himself instead. He moves slowly, carefully, but the sensation still makes his whole body tense up. He’s used to the feel of a pussy clenching around his finger, wet and warm, but this is backwards. This is his pussy being filled by a finger, a ripple of something tight and hot sliding up through his whole body when he curls it slightly.   


“Fuck.”  


“Dean?” Sam’s voice is high and breathy, just the sound of it sexy enough to make both of them pause for a breath.  


“Yeah?”  


“I...uh, I don’t think this is working. I mean, it, ahhh, it feels good. Just.”  


“Turn around, Sammy. I’ll help you.”  


The statue hums like it’s happy, and the two of them turn to face each other, both of them sighing as their legs rub together. Even that small touch is too much, smooth and delicate.  


“Do it like this,” Dean suggests, angling his hand so that he’s got two fingers thrusting inside and his thumb pressed against the side of his clit.   


His eyes flutter, and Sam watches his pretty mouth as he bites his lip. A new rush of wetness coats Sam’s fingers when it should really be his dick twitching and jumping, and he mimics Dean’s motions exactly, not holding back his noises at all.  


The sounds are as good as the feeling as they both fuck their own fingers, jeans pooled around an ankle here, buttons of a shirt falling open there, both of them watching as these new bodies flush and writhe.  


Dean needs to touch Sam. It’s building inside of him, this desire, this absolute need to rub himself all over that softness, to taste it. He wants to blame the statue, which is still shining bright in the small room, like maybe they’re onto something. He wants to pretend that he would never be this fucked up unless some ancient Egyptian god was involved. But the truth is that as hot as this is, he wouldn’t mind watching Sam’s real body as he jerked himself off. And today isn’t the first time he’s thought about it.  


Sam can’t help but stare at Dean’s fingers as they disappear over and over. He wonders what Dean feels like inside, if the two of them feel the same or if Dean is different. Unique. With every dirty thought, the statue thrums a little louder, like it’s getting just as wound up as they are.   


“Sammy, Jesus Christ, you...I’m gonna…”  


“Me too, Dean. Come with me.” It has to be the statue that makes him say that. He’s definitely not asking Dean to come with him just because he wants to see it. It’s the magic inside of him trying to work its way out, that’s all. Maybe that’s the thing that will open that goddamn door.   


Their small bodies convulse in unison, high-pitched sighs echoing off the walls, and the statue seems to maybe grow a little, like it wants to tower over them.   


Holy shit, Dean’s never felt anything like this. The orgasm goes through his whole body, makes every muscle tense and relax, takes his breath and curls his toes, makes him strain against the parts of Sam that are brushing up against him.  


Sam matches every one of Dean’s shivers and shakes, leaning forward and going silent for a moment before crying out loudly, a sultry sound that has to be worth something to that damn statue.  


They pull their fingers away from themselves and breathe heavily, looking from each other to the statue to the door and back again.  


Nothing.   


The statue still glows at them, unsatisfied.  


“Dean?” Sam asks, already feeling the need creeping back inside his body.  


“Yeah. That didn’t work. I don’t feel...I still need to…”  


Their eyes meet, and both of them feel the pull.  


They know what they have to do.


	2. Chapter 2

“Sammy?” Dean’s long hair is starting to curl as he sweats, and Sam tries not to think about how it would feel wrapped around his hand as he pulled it.  


This is too fucked up. Too weird. And they will just have to find another way.  


“I know, Dean.”   


Except there is no other way, and they both know it. Sam’s hands are already pulling at his own clothes, kicking his pants all the way off from where they’ve been hanging off an ankle, then unbuttoning his shirt. Dean’s sliding closer, inch by inch, like if he moves slowly enough, Sam won’t see him coming.  


Dean watches as Sam’s new breasts are exposed, concentrates on the swell of them, on how they are heaving with his breath. If they’re going to do this, they’re going to do this with Dean thinking he’s fucking a girl. He is absolutely not going to think about how he wishes it was the real Sam, how he’s wondered for years what it would feel like to have Sam’s cock in his mouth, how he’s desperate right now to hear all these little sighs and moans in the deep voice he’s heard his whole life rather than this new, higher one.  


Sam spreads his legs as Dean gets closer, but that’s because of the statue. It seems bigger still, glowing bright enough that Sam doesn’t turn to look directly at it for fear of damaging his eyes. It’s the statue that’s got him naked and practically whining for Dean. He is absolutely not going to think about how he’s missing Dean’s real hands, the ones that are rough and calloused, how he wants his dick back so he can really fuck Dean the way he wants to, the way he’s wanted to for as long as he can remember.  


But despite being in the wrong bodies, it still feels incredible when Dean gets on his hands and knees and crawls forward, leans his head down. He hasn’t even touched Sam yet, and Sam’s already tingling, clenching around nothing and wishing he wasn’t so empty. It fucking _aches_ , and he isn’t sure what Dean’s going to be able to do about that with just his mouth.  


Dean knows there’s probably a better way to do this, a faster way to just get this over with so they can get the hell out of here and get back to being men, but he can’t help taking just a minute to run his nose up Sam’s thigh. It’s smooth, silkier than it should be, and the scent is too feminine. But there’s still the scent of _Sam_ underneath, of that familiar smell Dean would know no matter how many curses they were under.  


Sam is shaking, blood boiling under his skin, the statue watching as he just opens wider for Dean. He’s soaking wet, clit throbbing, such a different intensity than what he’s used to. His fingers itch, then move seemingly on their own to drag through Dean’s hair. Dean closes his eyes, lets Sam touch him as he smacks a kiss on his thigh, then leans up to latch onto one of Sam’s breasts.  


“Fuck,” Sam breathes out, and the force of the word sounds strange in such a delicate voice.  


Dean sucks hard, loving how Sam’s nipple swells and hardens between his lips. He teases and nibbles until Sam’s hand is back in his hair, tugging hard this time, and it sends a thrill down his spine that would usually end in his cock, but now has nowhere to go but an empty pussy that’s slick with just how hot this all is.  


The need starts humming through them full force, unnatural and a little frightening, like this curse is burning them alive from the inside out. Dean gets his too-baggy clothes off in record time.  


Sam falls back flat on the cold floor as he pushes Dean’s head down, and Dean goes easily, not hesitating to shove his head back between Sam’s legs.  


“Oh, God,” Dean moans, words slurred as he sticks his tongue out and presses it against Sam’s clit. He tastes just like Dean knew he would, like Sam, even though this isn’t right, isn’t what he should be touching.  


“Dean,” Sam practically shouts, “yes. That’s...that’s…”  


“Good?” Dean mumbles, trying not to take his tongue away as he flutters it back and forth as fast as he can.  


“Fuck yes,” Sam cries out, body convulsing. “So good.”  


Sam squeezes his eyes shut and thrashes around beneath Dean’s tongue. It’s hot and rough and fucking perfect, and every cell in Sam’s body seems to be connected to his clit, all buzzing at Dean’s touch. The pressure builds inside of him so fast it hurts, hurts in the best way.  


But he can’t come.  


A few minutes later, he knows he isn’t going to. This still isn’t enough.  


“Dean…”  


Dean hears the fear in Sam’s voice and leans up, lips swollen and glistening.  


“I don’t think...this isn’t working,” Sam says.  


And then, for some reason unknown to Sam himself, he’s pulling Dean up to kiss him.  


That’s it.  


A surge of power rumbles through them both, and they realize they’re on the right track. It’s the connection during sex, not just the sex itself.  


Sam goes still for a moment with Dean’s lips on his. He isn’t ready for this. He isn’t ready to admit what he’s been feeling, all the things that will come to light now, all the things he can’t blame on the curse.  


Dean’s already decided he doesn’t give a fuck. He’s grateful now, grateful to this god for giving him Sam, finally. He kisses hard, tongue thrusting and searching every little bit of Sam’s mouth. He doesn’t know if he’ll get to do this again, so he wants to memorize it now. The lips are a little fuller than they should be with Sam in a woman’s body, but Dean doesn’t care. He sucks and bites at them, his body naturally leaning forward and covering Sam’s while they kiss.  


Sam figures out exactly what he should be doing when he wraps his legs around Dean’s and feels a sudden burst of heat from within.  


The low hum from the statue grows louder, almost a primal groan as they give in completely, hands linked together as Dean rolls his hips.  


Oh, that is _amazing_. Dean angles himself so that his legs are spread a little, allowing his clit to rub against Sam’s with every movement, and he moves fast, fucking against Sam as hard as he can, their breasts rubbing, tongues licking at any and all skin they can find.  


It’s all wrong. The sensations are coming from all the wrong places, the sounds aren’t their voices, and the movements are clunky as they try to navigate new centers of gravity. They both can feel the unnatural part of this, the part that’s making them move against their wills, simply because their bodies demand it, because Bes demands it.  


But as Dean slides against Sam’s sweaty skin, he knows it’s still Sam underneath there. It’s not the statue that makes him stare into Sam’s eyes, the only part of him that is still him, female or not.  


And Sam squeezes Dean’s fingers because he wants to keep him close. If something awful is going to happen, he wants Dean with him. Bes can control a lot of things, but even _he_ isn’t as strong as the way Sam’s hands cling to Dean’s.  


“You okay?” Dean manages, not stopping his thrusts.  


“God, yes, keep going,” Sam encourages, mind going a little dizzy at how hot he is, at how fucking dirty and slick and good this is.  


Pulses pound and muscles tense as they push at each other, grind their bodies together and learn what it’s like to do this in female bodies.  


There’s no music sounding in the room, but it feels like they’re moving to a drum beat. Bes is the god of music, too, after all, and it’s not the craziest thing that’s happened today. Dean’s gorgeous, hips undulating with a different type of grace than Sam’s used to seeing, like he’s dancing on top of Sam, twisting and turning his way to a climax that will either save them or kill them, and Sam isn’t sure which would be preferable at this point.  


And then Sam’s dancing too, pushing his hips up to that same beat, over and over. Dean’s had a lot of sex, but he’s never seen anyone move like that, and he leans down, smashes his body closer.  


“God, I’m so close, Sam,” Dean groans. “Come with me.”  


“No,” Sam nods, somehow knowing it’s the right answer. “I just want to watch you. Come on, Dean, fuck me. Make your pussy come all over mine.”  


Those are like the magic words, and the tension builds impossibly higher, but they can feel the breaking point now.  


They keep their eyes on each other as Dean convulses, his rhythm shot to hell as he just slams his body against Sam’s in any way that feels good.  


Sam grabs Dean’s ass, digs into the meaty flesh there and drags it closer, angles Dean in the right way since he’s clearly unable to do it himself.  


And two thrusts later, Dean’s clit bearing down on Sam’s to get as much friction as possible, he’s coming.  


It feels like he’s dying, and he wants to do it over and over again. Pleasure floods through him, starting in his pussy and rushing out through his veins until every bit of him is violently writhing with it, a high-pitched cry coming out of  his throat that, regardless of the tone, is undeniably him.  


Sam stares up at him, almost coming himself at how Dean’s body curls in on itself, curls in on Sam, and holds on as he gets lost in his orgasm. It’s the hottest thing Sam’s ever seen, but even so, he can’t stop thinking that it would be hotter to watch Dean’s ab muscles flex instead of this soft belly in front of him, that he’d like Dean’s biceps to grab onto, would rather Dean be grunting and growling than whimpering this way.  


His thoughts, and the aftershocks of Dean’s orgasm, are interrupted when the statue stops glowing and becomes a blinding light instead, letting out a shock wave that flashes through the room and knocks them back, away from one another.  


And then, just like that, the room is silent.  


“You okay?” Dean asks, the same refrain that falls automatically from both their lips whenever they’re thrown to the ground, which happens far more often than it should.  


“I’m okay. You?”  


They sound like themselves. Their real selves.  


Sam looks down as the dust settles to see his own body, long and lean and very male. And very naked. He glances over and finds Dean in the same predicament.  


Dean grabs his clothes and starts shoving them on.  


“Good. This is good. You think it’s over?”  


Sam shrugs and stands up, hastily finds his own pants, looking away before Dean realizes he’s staring.  


Holding his breath, Dean heads to the door and tries the handle.  


It opens.  


They are out of the museum and back in the Impala in seconds, both panting from the run.  


“Jesus,” Dean says as he pulls the car out onto the road, tires screeching against asphalt.  


“We’re okay,” Sam reassures him. “It’s all okay.”  


They both cringe, knowing it’s a lie.  


Dean wants to say something, wants to make a joke of this or negate it somehow. All he can come up with is “So, look. I...uh…”  


“It’s okay. It was the spell.”  


“Right.” Dean latches onto that out and runs with it. “It was the spell.”  


The car ride back to the motel lasts a lifetime. Sam can’t quit picturing what Dean looked like as he came. Dean can’t get the taste of Sam out of his mouth.  


Just the spell.  


“It’s not that big a deal,” Sam finally says, talking to himself as much as Dean. 

“It’s not like we had any other choice, and it’s not like we were even ourselves. We can just forget about it, right?”  


Dean nods. “Sounds good to me.”  


But if it was just the spell, why is Dean still feeling like this? He’s relieved and glad they’re alive, of course, but now he’s disappointed. There’s a tiny compartment in his brain that’s filing these memories away because he doesn’t want to lose them.  


Sam wants to keep talking until he believes it himself, but at this point, he’s knows it’s no use. He can’t keep ignoring this, not after tonight. He’s just going to have to find a way to deal and move on.  


When Dean pulls into the motel and they get out of the car, he lets himself watch Sam. His shoulders are hunched and he’s staring at the ground, looking like the sullen teenager Dean remembers all too well. When the heat starts building inside of him again, it feels different. There’s no edge to it, no unnatural source making him feel out of control.  


There’s just this warmth. Sweet and easy and...powerful.  


Sam opens the door and readies himself for a night of silence as they both try to recover and process everything that just happened.  


“You sure you’re okay?” Dean asks as he follows him in.  


Sam nods. “I’ll do some research tomorrow to make sure that statue is actually dormant again and not something we need to worry about, and then we can figure out a plan to go get it and stash it somewhere safer than a museum basement.”  


“But you. You’re okay?”  


“I’m good, Dean,” Sam assures him.  


That’s good enough for Dean, and he makes a decision.  


He grabs Sam’s arm, whirls him around, and shoves him against the wall of their motel room, hips rubbing together and lips inches apart. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! XOXO


	3. Chapter 3

“What the hell are you doing?” Sam means to sound shocked, maybe a little angry, but his voice comes out low and hot instead, clearly needy instead of offended.  


Dean leans in until their noses are almost touching, hands curled into Sam’s flannel so tight it’s going to rip any second. He’s not going to let Sam back out of this. There’s more here than that fucking curse, and Dean needs this.   


“Tell me to stop.”  


The words are sincere. He’s not going to do a thing if Sam tells him no. But they’re a challenge, too. Sam knows that, knows the look in Dean’s eyes as well as he knows his own name.   


Sam opens his mouth, but it’s not to stop Dean. It’s to lean forward and slide his tongue in Dean’s mouth, slick and greedy, breath pushing loudly through his nose.  


God, _this_. This is what he wanted earlier. Lips the right size, rough and dry, stubble rubbing against his own face. Dean’s hands clutch tighter, big and strong the way they should be.   


This is Dean. Sam’s Dean. And just one touch makes Sam’s cock swell, somehow getting impossibly harder than it’s been the whole ride back to this sketchy motel room.  


Dean listens as Sam moans into the kiss, eyes closing with the deep sound of it, the low rumbling he wanted to hear back in that basement. Sam’s chest is broad and solid again, a warm wall that gives Dean something to press against as he kisses back.   


Neither of them have to say anything to justify or talk themselves into this. This isn’t the curse. This is just the crack in the dam finally giving way.  


“Say you want me to,” Dean growls, biting at Sam’s jaw until he can see the red marks his teeth leave behind.   


“I want you to.” Sam’s tearing at the buttons on his shirt, stopping halfway through to work on Dean’s belt, wanting them both naked right fucking now and not having enough hands for it. “Want you.”  


Dean nods, forehead bumping into Sam’s as he takes over, practically ripping Sam’s shirt off.   


Reluctantly, they separate for a second, just long enough to take a breath of cool air and shed their clothes.  


Dean’s perfect. But Sam knew that already. It’s not like they don’t see each other naked every time they come out of a shower or change clothes in the morning. This is the first time Sam’s _allowed_ to look, though, and the first time he’s looked without feeling guilty. And Dean’s perfect. Sam’s mouth literally waters as he takes in all that creamy skin, all those freckles he wants to kiss, to connect with his tongue in perfect constellations.   


And Sam’s a fucking real-life Thor, Dean decides. With his long hair, with those abs, with no bit of softness anywhere to take away from his muscles...Dean’s cock is throbbing with the need to...to what? To fuck Sam? To let Sam fuck him? 

It all sounds good.   


“Dean?”  


“Come here, Sammy.”  


They fall on the bed in a flurry of limbs that can’t wrap around each other fast enough, pulling and tugging until they end up with Dean on top, Sam’s legs wrapped around his waist because it’s the most natural place for them to go.   


“Tell me again.”  


Sam looks up into Dean’s eyes, sees the question there, and his lust melts away into something far more intense and far more dangerous. Dean’s nervous. He’s covering it up well, but he’s nervous. This is so much more than either of them were prepared for today, and Sam’s aching with it.   


“Dean,” Sam says, loud and clear, the same call he’s been sending out his whole life. “Need you.”  


Dean lets out a rush of air that he doesn’t mean to be a sigh of relief. But it definitely is. Sam’s hands are stroking up and down his spine, looking up at him with the same adoration that was there when they were kids, so much pure love that Dean’s heart hurts with it, and everything is going to be okay.  


They kiss slowly this time, with no spell demanding they move faster. They’ve seen the entire country, but this is the best spot they’ve ever been. Right here in this shitty room, with scratchy sheets and a broken air conditioner and each other.   


“God, Dean,” Sam eventually murmurs. “Need you. Need you so much. Always have. Always wanted you.” He’s almost chanting the words, broken sentences falling with the same rhythm as his hips when they rise to meet Dean’s, their cocks brushing together with every movement.   


“Fuck, Sam,” Dean growls, teeth grabbing at Sam’s earlobe, then his neck. “Jesus Christ.”  


It’s not a love poem, or even dirty talk, but Sam will take it.   


Dean’s too lost to come up with anything else worth saying. He’s got Sam’s long legs pulling him in, squeezing him closer, and the feel of that skin against his is too much. There’s no danger and no blood, Sam’s not hurt or dying, they aren’t clinging out of fear. That skin is on his because they both want it to be. Because it feels good.   


“Fuck me, Dean.” Sam’s begging now, hands tearing at the sheets instead of ripping at Dean’s hair.   


Dean just nods and starts kissing his way down Sam’s chest, leaving a wet trail behind as he quickly moves to hover right above Sam’s cock. He wants to do so many things that he can’t decide. He wants to tease and go slow, wants to worship Sam and let him know exactly how perfect he is, wants to suck him down hard and fast and make him come, wants to do whatever it takes to make Sam feel as shaky and desperate as he does.   


He settle for wrapping his lips around the head of Sam’s cock and gently sucking, a tiny smacking noise echoing through the room.  


Sam groans too loudly, but he can’t help it. Dean’s tongue is pressed right on the underside because he knows how good that feels, and Sam’s back arches off the bed as he tries to get more, tries to get deeper. He makes the mistake of looking down, and almost comes right then at those green eyes looking up at him, at those lips finally where they should be.   


And then Dean dips his head lower. He wants to keep going, wants to live the fantasies he’s had about Sam. Sam’s whole body tightens, but Dean just runs his hands up and down Sam’s sleek thighs, calming him down with soft kisses, moving until his mouth is right over Sam’s hole.   


He flicks his tongue out just once, and Sam almost shouts.   


Dean takes a second to kneel up and appreciate Sam, spread out beneath him, long and built, and completely at Dean’s mercy. He’s even got his arms raised and his wrists crossed, a silent promise that he belongs to Dean.  


“I would have taken you like that,” Sam says. “A girl, I mean. If we hadn’t been able to fix it, I still would have wanted you.”  


Dean nods because he would have too.  


“But I’m really glad I get you like this.”  


Dean can’t look at Sam anymore without doing something cheesy and embarrassing, so he leans back down and licks over Sam’s hole again. He takes his time then, licking at first, then thrusting his tongue a little, then adding a finger until Sam’s squirming, trying to push himself down to get Dean’s finger deeper.   


It’s a little strange and a little clumsy, but it doesn’t matter. Sam’s never felt anything so perfect, never lost control to the point that his hips move on their own this way.  


“Need more...come on…”  


Dean leans up to watch, then curls his finger, loving how Sam is not even remotely shy. He works another finger in, slick with spit, stretching Sam open, knowing exactly how to do this based on the way Sam whines and writhes, the way he sucks in silent breaths and lets out low moans.   


Sam’s never been touched this way, and it’s hitting all the wild, dark parts of him he works so hard to keep hidden. Before he can stop himself, he’s talking, streams of dirty, delicious words pouring out of his mouth to wash over Dean.  


“Please fuck me, come on, need you, need you inside me, need you to fuck me so good Dean please please please…”  


Dean groans at that, mouth back on Sam’s cock as his fingers still thrust inside. Somehow, he pulls away, finding the strength to move only from the knowledge that he has to dig the lube out of his bag if he wants to go any farther.   


It only takes Dean a few seconds, but it’s too long for Sam, and he’s sitting up, reaching for Dean as he gets back on the bed, falling back with a satisfied grunt when Dean climbs back on top of him.   


They both watch the lube drizzle onto Dean’s fingers, both sets of eyes wide and eager as Dean slides his slick fingers back inside of Sam.  


“Dean, just come on, fucking do it.”  


“You want me?” Dean asks, wanting to hear Sam say it as much as he wants to tease him. “You want to feel my cock?”  


Sam grabs the lube and pours some in his own hand, then reaches down to coat Dean’s dick. Jesus, he’s thick. And hard. And Sam is definitely going to have a good time sucking Dean off at some point. Some point _after_ they fuck.  


Dean grins as Sam gently guides him down, nudges Dean against his hole.   
They both groan as Dean barely pushes in, Sam’s a high-pitched whimper, Dean’s a low growl, and their mouths find each other again. Sam’s got both his arms and legs around Dean, Dean’s sweaty chest is sliding against Sam’s, and neither of them can quite get into the kiss. They just let their mouths rest together, breathe the other’s exhale, as Dean inches his way inside Sam.  


Suddenly, Sam has no more words. There’s nothing to describe this. It’s too much, it’s exactly everything he was always afraid to want, and everything that will make him whole, and he doesn’t have sounds for that. The only thing he can do is close his eyes and feel it, hoping that the tears in his eyes aren’t enough to spill down his cheeks.   


Dean’s heart is going to explode. It’s beating too fast, and the lack of blood in his brain is making him dizzy. He keeps moving because there’s no force in existence that could stop him now, keeps pressing against Sam until he’s totally buried in that tight heat, balls smashed against him, not even room for air between their bodies.   


“Fuck, Sammy, I can’t...you feel...I…”  


Sam finds words, blinks up at him with more trust than Dean thinks he deserves. “It’s okay, Dean. This isn’t the spell. This is just us.”  


“Just us,” Dean echoes. Leave it to Sam, pleading and desperate and strung out Sam, to say the one thing he needs to hear.   


He buries his face in Sam’s neck and starts to move, gritting his teeth and bracing himself so that he doesn’t come on the first stroke.   


Again, just like in the museum basement, they’re dancing. But this isn’t crazed or spell-drunk. This is just them, sweet and slow, more in unison than even a curse could make them. Their bodies roll and curve, sing to each other, push and pull to a rhythm they created. Sam’s tongue glides over the hollow of Dean’s throat, traces his collar bones until he’s shivering with it. Dean’s hips grind into Sam’s until it hurts, such a sweet pressure that Sam pushes up even harder, digs in just a little more.  


The music between them gets louder the faster Dean moves, as neither of them can hold back their pleasure anymore and scream their way through it. Sam’s fingernails break the skin on Dean’s shoulder blades. Dean’s hands bruise Sam’s ribs. And they keep going.   


They make it last as long as they can, creating a song all their own, one that no Egyptian god gets to witness. But eventually the song ends.  


Dean’s rhythm falters, because Sam is squeezing around him so fucking tight that his cock doesn’t even have room to throb, and he keeps making those noises, primal and unleashed in a way Sam never is. Sam can’t handle when Dean angles his hips up, hitting his prostate every time he slams into him, driving that sensation up his spine and out of his mouth in an animal shout.   


And that’s how they both come, Dean inside Sam, Sam’s cock entirely untouched, just trapped between Dean’s stomach and his own, both holding on to the other for dear life. They share the orgasm like they do everything else, shaking and trembling into one another until they aren’t sure whose pleasure they’re actually feeling, until it doesn’t matter anymore, until it melts into one huge wave of heat that breaks them both.   


Dean doesn’t move, doesn’t roll away. He just collapses on top of Sam. Sam doesn’t mind the weight on top of him. Their toes curl against each other, rubbing and stretching, because it’s the only part of their bodies- thought it just feels like one body now- they have the energy to move.   


Eventually, Dean finds the strength to purse his lips into a good enough kiss on Sam’s neck. Sam grins and nuzzles his head a little.  


“We gonna talk about this?” he asks.   


Dean grunts, and Sam can hear the “do we have to?” in the sound.   


No, they don’t have to. Not tonight, anyway.  


Tonight, they can just lie here together.   


Dean starts snoring a few minutes later, and Sam wiggles his way out from underneath him, giving his lungs room to actually take a deep breath. But he doesn’t roll away. He still wants Dean’s skin on his.   


This is better than he imagined all those nights, in a cold bed on the other side of the room from his brother, lonely and hating himself. Even in those perfect fantasies, he didn’t know it was going to feel like this.   


And it’s better than when they were women, driven by unnatural need. Dean’s skin had been so soft, and they had been so slick against each other, but Sam doesn’t miss it.   


This? This is perfect.  


He sends a silent thank you to Bes, then falls asleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading!! XOXO

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed it! XOXO


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